


Meme Ficlet: Official Secrets

by greywash



Series: Meme Ficlets (Spring 2012... and onward) [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2012-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/pseuds/greywash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Meme ficlet, archived off Tumblr; unbeta'ed and un-Britpicked.</em>
</p>
<p><strong>lux-obscura requested</strong>: What is 14's darkest secret and under what circumstances would s/he tell 9?</p>
<p>
  <strong>9. Sherlock</strong>
  <br/><strong>14. Sarah</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meme Ficlet: Official Secrets

"Do you love him?" he asks, rosining his bow.

"I—what?" Sarah laughs, a little, leaning on the counter. "I'm sorry, I—how is that an appropriate question to ask me?"

"He's in the shower," he says. He sets the rosin on the coffee table. "He can't hear you. I won't tell him."

"Not the issue, Sherlock," she says, and then shakes her head, laughing again. "You can't just ask me that. It isn't any of your business."

"It is my business," he says, tilting the violin up, tucking it under his chin. "If you hurt him, it will interfere with both my—domestic tranquility, I suppose, since he's not subtle when he's in a strop, and with my ability to work, since when he can focus, he is both a skillful assistant and remarkably good at defusing the more unpleasant interpersonal situations in my line of work. So it is in fact very much my business—literally, in fact. Again. Do you love him?"

"I'm not answering that question."

She turns and picks up the coffee pot, fills her mug. Upstairs, the water shuts off. Sherlock licks his lips. He is running out of time. He settles the violin back against his lap.

"His heart is important to me," he says, and watches her until she turns to meet his eyes.

"Oh," she says, with that little quirk of the mouth, the one that Sherlock thinks probably drew John in. It signals a sense of humor, amiability; Sherlock has always had difficulty with that one. She says, voice warm, "His heart is important to you. So—what, am I the other woman?"

He rolls his eyes. "If you were to simply ask me directly," he says, "I would tell you. Yes, I love him; it's not exactly official secrets. I don't know why _you're_ so reluctant to answer _me_."

Her eyes have gone wide, surprised. Tiresome.

"Do you?" he asks. "Because—since he's rather well on his way to loving  _you_ —"

"Don't be ridiculous," she says. "He's not—he's not a romantic, he—"

"No," Sherlock says, "but he's generous, and he loves easily, and that's worse. If the whole of your purpose here is to draw that out of him and then cut at him when it isn't enough—"

"Isn't enough," she echoes, and he says, "Yes," very evenly, because it won't be enough and she knows it. Sarah is many things, but she isn't stupid. He likes that about her.

She watches him. He reaches for his rosin again, even though it's beyond unnecessary. He doubts she's familiar enough with the process to notice, and it gives him something to do with his hands.

"You love him," she says, very quietly, and he says, "You heard me the first time," and she says, "What's the right answer from me, then?" and he says, "Oh, guess." He loosens his E string, then retunes it.

"I like being alone," she says, finally, "eight months out of the year. I find relationships boring and constrictive, and my sex life is in a great many ways more satisfying on my own."

Sherlock breathes out, then swallows. He nods.

"It's nice for a while, though," she says, quietly.

"What," he says. It comes out too soft. Too low. He clears his throat, and tries not to look up at her. Her mouth is quirked up, again.

"The generosity," she says, quietly. "Knowing how little he expects in return."

Sherlock exhales, sharp, and drops his gaze. When his hands are steady again, he raises the violin, and tells her, "No, it's not."


End file.
